


Watch Me Fall Apart

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [11]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Spike, Cuddling & Snuggling, I Tried, Masturbation, Naked Cuddling, OOC, Other, PWP, Post-Coital Cuddling, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop teasing him, Eddie,” Greg said—the authority in his voice slathered on almost mockingly, but the mischievous team leader simply suckled on the back of Spike’s ear before letting go with a pop and another shattered sound from his younger lover.<br/>“Just taking my time, boss,” Ed grinned, rocking his hips into Spike as the bomb tech tried to press closer but the sniper’s hand was controlling all of their actions</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch Me Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so... I tried. No teasing, just actual smut. Here's the problem: I DO NOT write smut, that's so out of my wheelhouse it's not even funny. So, I tried. I had to talk to my friend and get them to tell me to "go for it" before I set pen to paper, because this is such an odd genre for me. I hope you guys enjoy this, and have a great day. Please leave feedback, because it makes me smile and a happy author is an author that writes easier. Thank you for everyone who has left comments and kudos!
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I make no profit from my writing. However, this is still my writing so please don't repost anywhere. Thank you!

Lit by the afternoon sun, the four lovers lounged in Greg’s living room. Spike was sprawled out on the floor, Ed sitting next to him, and Sam and Greg were sitting on the couch flipping through the channels.

Spike, for the thousandth time that hour, shifted a bit from where he was laying on his front. He’d been doing that all day, making pained, short movements. He had on a baggy pair of sleep shorts, and one of Sam’s shirts—he’d taken to stealing them, always getting flustered when they brought it up—was clinging to the curvatures of his torso.

“You okay?” Ed asked, dragging the bomb tech closer—and Spike’s limbs just trailed after him, not a single twitch of effort coming from him.

“Back hurts,” The Italian muttered into the carpet, moving to roll back away from the team leader but Ed rolled his eyes and threw a leg over Spike’s thighs to keep him from moving.

“Well,” Ed started, exasperated already, “why didn’t you tell us?”

“Not a big deal,” Spike said lowly, and rumbled something in his second language that none of his three lovers could understand.

The older sniper shook his head, rising up onto his knees and bracing himself on either side of Spike’s thighs to keep him still. He pushed up the shirt Spike was wearing so it bunched up around his shoulders before laying his palms flat against the younger man’s back.

Spike groaned at the heat, pressing into the sensation, and Ed slowly pressed his fingers harder into the flesh and rubbed the tense muscles slowly. The sniper, ever on target, moved up towards Spike’s shoulders, still firmly massaging the rigid muscles of the bomb tech’s back. Ed’s fingers slipped under the tight fitting shirt, seeking the outlines of his shoulders and neck, and Spike balanced his weight on his lower chest as he reached a hand back—grabbing onto the shirt—and pulled the offending item off before tossing it in the vague direction of their other lovers.

Ed pushed him flat onto the floor again and, following the lines of his sides, pressed hard against Spike’s lower back with practiced hands.

The Italian didn’t try to hide his moan, his back arching as he rose up onto his knees—keeping his chest flat against the carpet— and rested his head in the crook of his own arm. Ed’s ministrations stopped as Spike’s bum followed the path of his curving spine, and the bomb tech ended up firmly pressed against the team leader’s crotch.

The bald sniper’s hands slid off of Spike’s back, taking a place firmly holding his hips in place, and groaned when the bomb tech pressed back, again, teasingly. Spike could feel his own arousal starting to heat up his body, and gasped when Ed grinded against him—the older man’s pulsating organ very easy to feel through the thin fabric of their clothes.

A wandering hand landed on his stomach and trailed towards his chest, and Spike lifted his weight a little more onto his arms so it had free range of his skin. Ed’s other hand was still planted, with bruising force, just above Spike’s hip and kept the man—for the most part—still.

Ed’s fingers brushed one of Spike’s nipples, and the bomb tech jolted with the sensation—rubbing even harder into Ed as the sniper covered the bomb tech’s back with his chest with a heavy groan.

“Ed,” Spike gasped brokenly as the sniper’s hand trailed over his stomach—the muscles twitching—and towards the elastic of his shorts.

“Stop teasing him, Eddie,” Greg said—the authority in his voice slathered on almost mockingly, but the mischievous team leader simply suckled on the back of Spike’s ear before letting go with a pop and another shattered sound from his younger lover.

“Just taking my time, boss,” Ed grinned, rocking his hips into Spike as the bomb tech tried to press closer but the sniper’s hand was controlling all of their actions.

Someone rose from the couch, and there were footsteps on the stairs, and Spike went to look but Ed’s sudden nibbling on his neck made his head crane the other way and his entire body shuddered. The man’s calloused hand grabbed onto the top of his shorts, and Spike wiggled his hips in an attempt to help Ed pull off the unwanted clothing item as it was dragged down his thighs.

Spike’s toes curled, a gust of air escaping his mouth as his voice failed him, as the sniper slipped his hand over his leaking cock and massaged it as firmly as he had his back. He didn’t even notice the sound of feet coming back down the stairs, too caught up in trying to control his pelvis’ broken movements as Ed laughed quietly from behind him.

“Might need this,” Sam said, handing the small bottle to Ed let a couple condoms flutter from his hand to the ground by Spike’s knees. The blonde stripped off his own clothing, watching the scene before him hungrily, before kneeling and lowering himself even more so he could catch Spike’s lips in an excited kiss. Sam’s hands—covetously tracing over Spike’s body—fisted in the brunette’s hair and drew him further into the kiss.

Ed slipped back up his responsive lover’s back, biting one globe of Spike’s firm ass with a frisky grin before uncapping the bottle of lube—Spike perked up at the noise, and pressed even further into Ed’s hold with an irritated, insistent noise. Sam pressed harder against the bomb tech’s ravaged lips, biting the soft, red skin and drawing another strangled sound from the Italian’s throat.

Greg left his comfy spot on the couch, freeing himself from the constraints of his boxers, and kneeled next to Sam. He trailed his mouth over the younger sniper’s back, slipping a hand between his thighs as the blonde’s knees slid apart to grand him access.

The negotiator looked over where Ed was eyeing their Italian, his fingers dripping in lubricant, and icy blue eyes met brown as the two older lovers locked gazes.

“Ed, come on,” Spike gasped, breaking free of Sam’s kiss and the blonde simply took to sucking marks on the pastel column of Spike’s throat. One of his hands—skilled and practiced—went to grab his pulsing erection but Sam caught Spike by the wrist and pulled him back into a kiss, laughing. His laugh, husky yet light, turned into a shaky groan as Greg’s hand continued to stroke him firmly and his back arched in a rivalry of Spike’s showing. His knees slid further apart, and the sergeant was afraid he was going to topple over.

“ _Yes_ ,” Spike panted sharply, and Greg watched as Ed struggled to keep the bomb tech still as he worked a finger inside of him. Spike’s back bent even more sharply, stomach nearly pressing into the ground as his knees slid apart under his weight. Ed had an arm slung under his hips, holding him firmly, but Spike was bucking and pressing like his life depended on it.

“Beautiful,” Sam broke their kiss and said with reverence, blue eyes cloudy and dark. “Love you,” He said, not just to Spike but to all of them and he reached an arm back so run his hand over Greg’s larger frame.

Ed must have added another digit, because Spike whined sharply—his voice already high—and the older sniper swore as he had to grip the other man tighter. Then the bomb tech’s sounds became punctuated gulps, and Sam and Greg pulled back a bit to enjoy the show.

“I’m ready,” Spike bit out, squeezing around the delicious feeling of being full. “Let me turn over, I want to see you.”

Sam and Greg moved out of the way so Spike could flip onto his back, legs falling apart so they rested gently on Ed’s thighs, and they happily took in the new view. Sam moved onto the other side of the Italian, stroking himself deftly, and went back to lip locking with the brunette. Greg sat down in the new space, leaning over to help Ed roll a condom onto himself as the sniper tried to not lose it—already on edge from watching Spike fall to pieces under his hands, from his attention.

Lifting Spike’s hips up a bit, Ed lined up and slowly slid home, head bowed and breath labored. The bomb tech’s back arched; his shoulders were the only contact point on the ground as one of his hands clawed at Sam’s back and the other scrabbled for purchase on Greg’s knee. Ed’s hand, still sticky with lube, lightly stroked Spike’s pulsing organ but he, purposefully, didn’t give him enough friction to find release.

Sam was huffing into Spike’s neck, his body shaking as his hand sped up, and Greg started to feel himself unravel from the inside out as he watched. Spike’s hand was ghosting over the sergeant’s leg, giving whatever he could, and when Ed sped up—sharp, controlled thrusts that sent Spike bouncing—his nails dug stinging lines into Greg’s skin. It was enough, watching Spike lose himself to the pleasure and the sharp prickle of the light cuts, to send him over the edge.

Spilling into his hand, the sergeant leaned back and tried to catch his breath. Sam was still barking out his sweet agony, body twisting as he pleasured himself, and Spike had moved his hand away from Greg to run it over his blonde lover—searching out hotspots, remembering places that made him come undone.

The blonde didn’t last long, his body curling up with a broken moan as he came into his hand, and Spike drunk down his noises with a soft kiss even though his entire body was jolting and on fire from Ed’s motions.

“Close,” Ed grunted, trying to keep his eyes open, and he nearly collapsed atop Spike when the bomb tech squeezed around him. The sniper’s hand sped up, and Spike’s legs wrapped around Ed to try and bring him impossibly closer, his head thrown back as Greg and Sam watched, sated. There was a red blush spreading from Spike’s overheated face down his throat and was darkening his chest, and Ed leaned forward to follow the hue with his tongue.

“E-,” Spike rasped, his body twisted—away from the sensation, closer to the sensation, it didn’t matter, it was too much but it was too good—and he tried to find his voice, “ _Ed_!”

The Italian spilled into Ed’s hand, and he repeated their names over and over as his eyes threatened to roll back and the sensations washed over him like the shockwaves in the wake of an explosion.

Ed’s pace faltered, and he pressed as close as possible—clutching Spike as close as he could. Spike let out another spent sound, his thighs shaking, and Ed lowered them to the ground as he gently pulled out.

Sam pressed himself to Spike’s front, listening to the uneven breaths from his lover, and pressed a chaste peck to the tip of his nose. Spike was still quivering, eyes blurred, but he was quickly coming back down to earth. Greg moved back a little and let Ed slide past him—the team leader pressing firmly against the bomb tech’s back as Greg curled against the older sniper and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Love you guys,” Spike yawned, ready for a cat nap, and he got three distinct replies before letting himself go limp and ignored the cold sensation of the sweat cooling on their bodies. He was too deliciously sore to care about anything else except the feeling of his lovers surround him, and he knew they should get up and get clean, but his legs were as limp as Jell-O and he had no motivation to move.

“I can hear you thinking, Spike,” Greg said from where he had his face pressed against Ed, and the bomb tech felt his fingertips on his shoulder.

“We not tire you out enough?” Sam asked, softly running a hand over Spike’s thigh, and Ed made an insulted noise from the other side of Spike but the Italian just rolled his eyes and Greg told them to shut up and sleep, so they listened.

There, cuddled together in a naked, sweaty mess on the living room floor, they dozed.


End file.
